


take everything

by verity



Series: tween wolf [15]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:51:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She sees the thing in the mirror once, hovering behind her shoulder. It's like a cloud when it takes form, and it sucks the air right out of her chest, leaves her shaking and cold for long minutes on the dirty bathroom floor in the 7-11. On the way out, she buys a Big Gulp and flashes the cashier an apologetic smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_rocket_frost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_rocket_frost/gifts).



Allison has a duffle bag packed in her trunk: they were always prepared, for something like this.

They leave behind everything in the house, the heirlooms, the pictures, the weapons. Allison's viola, the music box her mother gave her for her tenth birthday, with the pop-up ballerina and velvet-lined drawers. Her father's guitar, her grandfather's lockbox, her mother's wedding ring.

In Chicago, they switch cars, split up.

"You think the Stirlings will take you in?" Allison says. She's sitting across from her dad in the diner. It's one of a local chain, Golden Nugget; the pancakes aren't very good.

Dad nods. "For a little while. If they won't, I can go to the Johnsons in Minnesota."

"You think you can get that far?" Allison says. She pours more of the maple-flavored corn syrup on her pancakes, like that'll help.

"On my own," Dad says.

They lock eyes for a long moment.

—

In a motel bathroom in Nebraska, Allison cuts her hair short enough that she can get it under a ballcap. She doesn't look like an Argent, with the dark hair that her mom always dyed a bright red. She binds her breasts before she pulls on a Giants jersey and baggy jeans that almost slip off her hips. The fake ID she's carrying in her wallet right now is decent enough to pass muster if she gets pulled over; the plates are good, and she's got a convincing title to the car crammed in the glove box.

Allison's been driving since her mom died two years ago, since she and Dad had to start trading off shifts on long hauls. She never got around to getting her license, but she's got a fake under her own name. That one's in a safety deposit box in Denver; if she can make it there, it's probably worth the detour to pick it up, for where she's going.

—

She sees the thing in the mirror once, hovering behind her shoulder. It's like a cloud when it takes form, and it sucks the air right out of her chest, leaves her shaking and cold for long minutes on the dirty bathroom floor in the 7-11. On the way out, she buys a Big Gulp and flashes the cashier an apologetic smile.

The drive is easy enough, for all that she's unleashed a Pandora's box on her own heels. She goes the speed limit in her little Toyota and no one stops her. She forks up for two motels and catches five or six hours of sleep on the outside before she's back on the road. She's gone farther with her dad, that one trip down the coast from Seattle, skirting the coast and border until Biloxi.

Sometimes she touches the mark on her hip that the thing left behind, burned into her flesh, still hot and tender.

—

Twice, she almost breaks down and buys a burner cellphone. The second time Allison gets as far as the parking lot of Wal-Mart before she snaps out of it. Who would she call? Mae Stirling? There's no point in calling ahead and finding out—she hasn't talked to them in months, it's not like she's _certain_. Maybe the situation has changed.

The closest thing she has to an actual conversation for the first two days is belting out the lyrics to a Taylor Swift song on the radio.

—

Allison's never been to Denver before, but she flashes the right ID and holds up her key, and the guys at the bank wave her right in.

There's a jumble of things inside: her real passport, her fake driver's license, social security card, birth certificate. Five thousand in cash, five hundred of that in crisp twenties. Her breath catches in her chest; tears spring to her eyes. Her parents prepared for this. This is their insurance policy for her.

It's not smart, but Allison takes everything, stashes it in the empty laptop pocket of her messenger bag.

—

She makes one last motel stop in Truckee to shower, pull on a tank top and jeans, even out the choppy line of her hair. The thing following her leaves a dark smudge on the fogged glass.

—

"Hey," Allison says when Stiles opens the door, holding out the Meat Lovers' Special, double order of breadsticks, and 2 liter bottle of Mountain Dew: Code Red. "Missed me?"

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.
> 
> Golden Nugget is real and I judge them.


End file.
